I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!

The office remained eerily silent as Hamiel stared at the closed gates, his mind replaying Ashok's words like an unrelenting echo—

'What's so surprising about a second bottle? I drink three every day together with my meals.'

The statement hammered itself into his thoughts, a revelation that refused to fade.

Slowly, Hamiel slouched into the chair nearby, his arms resting heavily on the armrests as the truth began to settle in.

At first, he had believed the exchange to be fair—a masterwork in trade, one that granted Ashok a personally enchanted artifact in return for a precious bottle of Spirit Wine.

But now, as his thoughts unraveled, reality hit him like a forge hammer against steel.

'That brat scammed me from the start.'

Ashok hadn't traded precious goods in return for craftsmanship—he had handed over something casual, something he used every day without a second thought.

Hamiel's gaze drifted toward the Spirit Wine resting on the table, its seal still intact, its contents untouched.

Yet—for some reason, the bottle that once gleamed with treasured worth now felt strangely ordinary.

The feeling of precious had faded.

Its value, once undeniable, had been tainted by the truth.

The deal was sealed, the enchantment was done, and yet—Hamiel couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, he had lost.

Ashok had walked away with his crafted masterpiece, while he remained here, holding onto a drink that was nothing more than routine for the boy.

And with that realization—Hamiel sighed.

Not out of frustration.

But out of defeat.

Though Hamiel had come to terms with the trade, there was no way he would simply discard the bottle of Spirit Wine—it was still something he had never tasted before, something rare, alluring in its own right.

As he stared at the bottle, a thought settled in his mind—

'I should store this for a special occasion.'

Satisfied with his decision, he moved to stand up, ready to place the bottle away—

But then—a sudden chill swept through the room.

The temperature plummeted, an unnatural cold crawling over the space, yet Hamiel hadn't sensed the shift before it was too late.

By the time awareness struck, a figure was already seated on the chair opposite him, her posture relaxed, her presence completely unapologetic.

A mocking voice sliced through the silence—female, laced with amusement.

"Old man, why do you look like you've eaten shit?"

A snicker followed, the sheer audacity of the statement enough to spark immediate rage.

Hamiel's eyes flared, his posture rigid, his deep voice booming through the office as he barked—

"First, you barge into my personal property—then you have the audacity to ask such a question?! You lazy bag in the name of Dean—GET OUT RIGHT NOW!"

His anger rolled through the room, powerful and absolute—yet the woman remained unmoved, utterly unfazed by his outburst.

"Chill, old man. Here—"

With a casual flick of her fingers, a massive block of ice materialized above Hamiel's head, its surface smooth, its weight undeniable.

In an instant—it dropped.

Yet, just as the ice was about to crash upon him, Hamiel's aura surged forth, a raw, unbridled force of energy shattering the frozen attack into nothing but scattered fragments.

Hamiel's laughter erupted through the office, booming with unrestrained amusement as he cracked his neck and fingers, his body eager for a confrontation.

"HAHA! So, you did come to pick a fight after all, you lazy bag."

His muscles tensed, his aura flaring with readiness, his grip hovering over the weapon he was about to summon—

But before the magic could even spark, the Dean's voice cut through the air like a cold wave, halting his intentions instantly.

"Leave it! I just came here for a routine checkup."

Her words carried an irritating certainty, like water being poured over Hamiel's simmering anger, dousing it before he could even act.

Hamiel clicked his tongue, irritation flickering in his eyes as he fired back—

"Routine checkup? Do you even know what that word means, or did you just pick it up from that old workaholic? Someone like you, who spends the entire day freeloading off the Academy, stuffing yourself with desserts, dares to say 'routine checkup.' Just be honest about why you're here—or leave."

The Dean clicked her tongue, exhaling briefly before delivering a statement that immediately shattered all casualness in the room.

"I sensed a strong presence in your office that wasn't yours."

Hamiel kept his expression neutral, his body posture unchanged—yet internally, his mind reeled.

'What sort of perception does she have? Ascended truly isn't just a rank.'

The entire office was layered with Presence Suppression enchantments, reinforced specifically to ensure no aura could leak through.

And yet—she had sensed Adlet's presence.

Hamiel remained quiet, his thoughts swirling as he analyzed the Dean's absurd perception.

'His presence must have leaked when the door opened—but for her to sense it within that tiny window of time… Truly a monster.'

A quiet sigh settled in his chest—one laced with both awe and frustration.

'Hah! When will I get the enlightenment to become an Ascended?'

The silence didn't last long before the Dean spoke again, her tone casual yet carrying an underlying sharpness—

"If you're still here, then I suppose it was nothing. Now—what were you doing with a first-year so late at night?"

Hamiel's jaw tightened slightly, irritation flickering in his voice as he responded—

"I was thinking of making him the new Dean. Any problem?"

The sarcasm was thick, a blatant jab at her laziness—yet she merely exhaled as if the idea wasn't entirely impossible.

"That's all? Then it's fine. If he's suitable, I might pass this position myself."

Her words were joking, yet dangerously close to the truth.

But before Hamiel could fire back, the Dean tilted her head slightly.

"Though… here I thought you were making him some personalized equipment but I am sure you will not do something like that."

Hamiel's gaze shifted—subtly but telling.

For the first time since the conversation started, his eyes flickered toward empty air, his expression stiffening slightly as a thin layer of sweat began to form on his brow.

The Dean's eyes widened, realization sparking instantly as she questioned—

"Just what are you thinking, making things for a first-year?"

Hamiel huffed, turning away slightly as he muttered—

"It wasn't that big of a deal."

The Dean leaned back slightly, arms crossed as she watched Hamiel with growing suspicion, her gaze sharp, unwavering.

"I'm sure you must have taken a good price from the stu—"

Her words abruptly halted as she caught sight of the sweat forming on Hamiel's brow, the beads multiplying with every passing second.

A long sigh escaped her lips, and with an exaggerated motion, she placed a hand over her head.

"Seriously?!"

Her tone carried a mix of irritation and disbelief, the weight of realization settling in.

"I heard rumors that you gave a Gold Pass to a first-year, but I thought that was nonsense. Don't tell me you actually handed one away just like that?"

Her gaze bore into him, expecting a rational response—yet Hamiel simply huffed, his words curt, firm.

"That kid is special."

The Dean scoffed, arms tightening against her chest as she leaned forward slightly, her expression demanding answers.

"HOW?"

Her question wasn't out of curiosity—it was an expectation.

Hamiel exhaled deeply, shaking his head before speaking, his tone carrying a weight that hinted at something deeper.

"Do you know why I never made you a weapon, even though you kept begging for one—especially after I forged the Divine Blade for that sword-obsessed brat?"

The Dean blinked once before tilting her head, confusion slipping into her features.

"Isn't it just because you're a stingy old man?"

Her tone was flat, as if stating an undeniable fact.

Hamiel's eyes twitched, his frustration spiking—

"I will bash your head."

A sharp cough followed as he composed himself, ignoring her remark before continuing with conviction—

"The reason is simple—you don't need a weapon."

The Dean narrowed her eyes, her response immediate, unwavering—

"I do need it."

Hamiel exhaled deeply, his tone carrying the weight of unwavering conviction as he addressed the Dean.

"You don't need one. You might pick a weapon, but in the end—it won't make much of a difference."

He straightened, crossing his arms before continuing, his words deliberate.

"Your mastery over Ice has already reached a level where, even if I forged you a staff or a wand, it would serve only as a supporting tool—never the main force."

His gaze hardened, his stance firm.

"I don't create my children to be served as supporting characters. I make them so that they define their wielders. And you—don't need one."

He paused, then added—

"But that sword-obsessed brat? He was different."

With that, Hamiel pushed himself up from his chair, his steps heavy as he made his way toward a particular bookshelf—

The same bookshelf he had once stared at in shock after seeing Ashok's presence.

His fingers traced the aged spine of an old book, one nestled among the lower rows.

Yet—it didn't budge.

Instead, as soon as his fingers released their grip, the book slid back into place, triggering a faint mechanical click.

A second later—the bookshelf trembled, then began to shift.

The wooden structure sank inward, the shelves gliding into a hidden recess before sliding smoothly to the side.

Beyond it—a secret passageway revealed itself

Hamiel stepped forward, his boots pressing against the cold stone floor as the Dean silently hovered behind him, her presence ghostlike yet undeniably sharp.

The instant his foot crossed the threshold, a sequence of soft mechanical clicks echoed through the space.

One after another—lights flared to life.

The Dean's gaze swept across the room, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to sheer astonishment.

Despite her years within the Academy, despite her knowledge of its many secrets—this was an area she had never once seen, never even suspected existed.